


Would That My Tongue Could Utter

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-23
Updated: 2003-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Todd grieves for the sound of a voice that is still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would That My Tongue Could Utter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lilybbloom

 

 

Would That My Tongue Could Utter 

_Break, break, break,_   
_On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!_   
_And I would that my tongue could utter_ _The thoughts that arise in me._

_O, well for the fisherman's boy,_   
_That he shouts with his sister at play!_ _O, well for the sailor lad,_  
 _That he sings in his boat on the bay!_

_And the stately ships go on_   
_To their haven under the hill;_   
_But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,_ _And the sound of a voice that is still!_

_Break, break, break_   
_At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!_   
_But the tender grace of a day that is dead_ _Will never come back to me._

_Alfred, Lord Tennyson_

It is too cold to be out on the lake, but Todd is there anyway, shirtless, the tips of his oars dipping into the still gray water. The single scull glides across the surface, held in place by tension and the burning deep pull of Todd's muscles, his shoulders screaming as he squares and feathers and tries to forget. 

To forget that Neil would have been cold, snowflakes melting on young-alive skin if they drifted through the open window--it was open, Todd heard Mrs. Perry say as much--and he pictures Neil looking out at the dark night with its quiet-chill blanket of snow, cataloging a final exquisite memory of crisp possibility. 

To forget that he was not there to stop Neil from putting a bullet into his brain moments later, rendering flesh graceless and forever lost to warmth. 

The wind picks up suddenly, blowing ripples around the scull, and Todd shivers underneath his sweat. He's almost in the exact middle of the lake now, Welton looming before him with an oppressive red-brick frown, but the school is far enough away that he feels a little more like he can breathe now, and he stops rowing, drifting to a slow halt. 

Overhead the sky is metallic, and Todd thinks it will probably snow again today. It has been snowing all week and his heart is broken. The two seem somehow related, but he can't explain, and has no one to explain it to, in any case. Knox would listen, and Todd is fairly certain he wouldn't laugh, but he does not think Knox would understand. He doesn't exactly understand himself, because this is somehow more terrible than just losing a good friend and a roommate. It feels like a room inside him has been cordoned off, the clocks and mirrors covered in the harsh black crepe of silence. 

He realizes, now, that he loved Neil. 

Remembers one night when they had stumbled back into their room, hushed laughter after being in the cave and watching Charlie utterly horrify his date with a recitation of Browning-- 

_Look, now, I melt a gourd-fruit into mash, Add honeycomb and pods, I have perceived, Which bite like finches when they bill and kiss,-- Then, when froth rises bladdery, drink up all, Quick, quick, till maggots scamper through my brain;_

\--which had not had precisely the intended effect, and Todd could still scarcely breathe thinking about how the girl had upended the bottle of wine on Charlie's head, and together with Neil he had fallen back into bed, drunk, to laugh a little while longer about secretly delightful things. 

Remembers playing soccer with Neil, concentration furrowing that dark brow as he ran the length of the field like a Greek god, and Todd would invariably slip up, allow a goal, because he lacked the singular focus that Neil turned on everything he touched. But Neil never minded, only smiled at Todd and clapped him on the back, and the opinion of the others didn't matter then. 

Remembers Neil's face in certain quiet moments when it would go still and sad, and Todd always wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he never did, and the moments always slipped away like polished sand, to be covered up with mundane things. Discussion of study group, and rehearsing lines at four. 

Something cold and wet alights on Todd's arm and he looks up. Another small something drops onto his eyelash and he blinks up at the sky, vision blurred by the first kiss of snow, and more falls, and Todd doesn't know if it is snow or tears that coat his face. The sky has darkened to deep steel, and Todd is suddenly gripped by a chill deep enough to lock his jaw, and he wraps stiff fingers around the immobile oars and turns back. 

When he reaches the dock by the old willow he is no longer sweating, ice creeping through his innards and joints, clashing with the first stirrings of what will surely be a terrible fever, and it's all Todd can do to get the scull out of the water and secured in the boathouse. 

The snow is falling more heavily now and he stumbles through it. The green is deserted, and that's good; Todd knows he'd never be able to explain what he was doing out on the lake today, and half-naked to boot. He's almost made it back to the residence hall when he runs into Knox, who's dressed in black and seems to be attempting to sneak out at the same time Todd is trying to sneak back in. 

"Todd, Jesus _Christ_ , what's the matter with you?" Knox's eyes are saucer-wide at the sight of Todd, chattering and vaguely blue, and Knox drags him inside. Artificial heat hits him like a furnace and his stomach clenches, doubling him over, and it's a small miracle that Knox manages to get him to his room and dumped onto his bed. 

His room. _Their_ room, only not anymore. Todd gives up, lets Knox panic and wrap blankets around him, tucked so tightly they should stop the shivering, but they don't. 

"What's the matter with you? What were you _thinking_?" Knox begins again, his voice an angry hiss now, and Todd wishes he could answer that. Instead he frees one cold hand from its plaid mummification and reaches up to touch Knox's mouth with his fingertips. Knox is plainly startled but he doesn't say anything, and he doesn't move. After a moment Todd lets his hand fall and Knox gets up. Todd can see the wheels turning, and another second passes before Knox speaks. 

"We all miss him, too," he says softly, and he doesn't wait for Todd's reply, just lets himself out and shuts the door silently. 

_I know,_ Todd thinks, and then he thinks a great host of other things he can't speak aloud, the world reduced to fever and loss and snow. 

 


End file.
